Bad Feeling
by Channel D
Summary: Tony just has a feeling that something bad will happen today...and he is so right! In this story, I was asked to combine a crack!fic with character death, so I chose to kill off lots of people and have fun with it. Humor. One-shot.


**Bad Feeling**

**by channelD**

_written for_: the NFA Haiti Relief auction

_rating_: K plus

_characters_: The team

_genre_: crack!fic

_**warning: character death**_

_prompt_: the buyer said she wanted a **crack!fic** with **character death**. The latter is uncharted territory for me, but I enjoy the former. Let's see what happens!

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I still own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

"Did you ever get the feeling…" Tony asked, in an ominous tone, "that you were being…"

"Being what?" Ziva asked when he did not finish the sentence. " 'Watched?' 'Followed?' 'Quoted?' "

Tim looked up, half-grinning. " 'Poisoned?' 'Pinched?' 'Pursued by rabbits?' "

"Maybe all of those," Tony murmured, a sign that he hadn't really paid attention. "I just get the feeling that there's something…out there. Out to get us. This might be our final chapter."

"What; are you an author now?" Tim jibed.

"Write it up later," Gibbs ordered, hanging up his phone. "Dead petty officer—"

"—in Rock Creek Park," the other three finished for him.

"Now _that's_ eerie," said Tony.

- - - - -

The dead petty officer in Rock Creek Park turned out to be an immaculately detailed mannequin dressed as a petty officer. "Threat…or menace?" Jimmy intoned as he cheerfully tossed the figure into the Autopsy van.

"Don't you start," said Tony. "This day seems woo-woo enough, and it isn't over yet."

"And we're late for lunch," said Gibbs. "Let's grab something at that supermarket down the road."

- - - - -

It was a well-kept secret, never caught by the cameras, that Gibbs believed in sticking to a regular lunchtime, no matter what the crime scene. At a discrete signal, he'd send his people away by ones or twos to sneak off and grab a sandwich or even a full meal. He would do likewise. Regular hours kept them all healthy, he reasoned.

At the megalo-supermarket, Ziva longingly eyed tins of sardines in one aisle while Gibbs felt like a kid again in the aisle labeled _Peanut Butter/Jelly/Bread/Marshmallow Fluff._ Just add butter, cinnamon sugar, Swiss cheese, ham, lettuce, tomato, and a pickle, and you'd have one heckuva sandwich, although if it could be toasted (and with a cherry on top), that would be even better.

Tony came around the corner. "We should get out of here, boss," he said, "This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"You spent too much time in the bathroom fixtures aisle, Tony," Gibbs scoffed. "You know that most household accidents occur in the bathtub."

"I know, boss, but—"

There was a loud _Crash!_ and Ziva was heard to cry out, _"McGee! No!!"_ The two men raced up and down 27 aisles, following the sound of her voice. Finally they came to the seafood aisle, where Tim lay on the floor in a pool of water, broken glass, and a few dozen lobsters; two of which had come free of the bands around their claws and were savagely attacking their interloper.

"No…no…" Ziva sobbed, trying to pull away the savage crustaceans, but Gibbs and Tony could see it was too late. One or more had already gone for the jugular. "He was trying to reach a jar of pickled chocolate for me, from that top shelf," Ziva said, stealing Gibbs' handkerchief to blow her nose. "And he fell backwards, onto the tank…"

"Oh, crap. McGee…" Tony was stunned.

Ducky raced in. "Help! Jimmy was checking on the stability of the mannequin in the van, when the van lurched and one of the mannequin's medals pierced Jimmy's hand. I had no idea he was allergic to gold plating…What happened to McGee?"

"He's dead, Duck," Gibbs said soberly.

"At the same time as Jimmy?! I don't believe in coincidences, Jethro!"

"That's my line, and don't you start."

Ziva stood up, the jar of pickled chocolate in hand. "All this senseless waste of life because of my love of brine-soaked cocoa." She made a move to dash the glass jar on the floor, over the others' objections, when suddenly a team of ninjas wearing supermarket aprons came out of the breakfast cereal aisle and stole the jar from her. In hot pursuit she took off.

Too surprised to move, Gibbs and Tony didn't act until there was an explosion. They followed it to the bakery section, where Ziva and the ninjas had become entangled in a giant bread maker, causing it have become overstuffed and having no place for the gases to go. There would be no more apple turnovers for the former Mossad agent.

As Tony and Gibbs stood, sorrowing, Ducky came up. "Good heavens, people!" he snapped, assessing the situation. "I had enough work to do already!"

"_Clean up on aisle 16,"_ came a voice on the loudspeaker.

- - - - -

Tony was silent on the ride back to NCIS. Ziva…McGee…Palmer…all dead! Just as he'd prophesized!

_Who would be next???_

Gibbs left him in the squad room to type up a report while he went up to see Vance.

Three hours went by, and Gibbs had not returned. When Vance appeared in the squad room, looking for him, Tony was shocked. The same idea struck them: _Gibbs' office!_

Sure enough, the elevator was stuck between floors. When Maintenance got the doors pried open, they found Gibbs…what was left of him. Evidently in his sorrow over losing 2/3 of his team, plus Jimmy, he'd head slapped himself to death.

"Oh, boss," sighed Tony, tears starting to fall.

Vance was immediately on the phone to Ducky. The ME's voice carried. _"This better not be another one, Director! If it is, I shall demand a pay raise."_

"Uh, false alarm, Ducky. Never mind," said Vance, hanging up and muttering something about the budget. "DiNozzo, can you just, um, prop him up at his desk until tomorrow?"

- - - - -

What use is it in going to work, Tony wondered the next morning, if all of his team was gone? But Vance had said nothing about _not_ coming in. No funeral plans yet. No…nothing. It had just been, "Go home, DiNozzo."

So he had. He arrived back at work just under the wire.

Gibbs, Ziva and McGee were all at their desks, hard at work.

"You're…you're…"

"We are _what_, Tony?" Ziva asked patiently.

"You're…not dead?"

Tim snorted. "Just because you had paranoid, crack!fic fantasies yesterday? Yes, I slipped and fell in the supermarket, and a lobster nipped me on the neck, but it's not likely to even leave a scar."

"And I inhaled more carbon dioxide from the rising bread dough, but it is a nice scent," Ziva put in.

"And you, boss?"

"It'll take more head knocks than that to kill me," Gibbs said gruffly.

"But…but…well, what about Palmer, then?"

"Ducky put a bandage on his finger and gave him a sugar-free lollipop. He's happy enough."

"But that's _impossible!_ You and you and you and Palmer were all dead!! I saw you all, _dead!!_ Ducky—"

Gibbs took a sip of coffee. "Vance blinked, and gave Ducky his raise."

Tony sat down slowly, not sure whether to feel relieved, or whether he had entered…_The NCIS Zone._

_Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…_

_Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…_

-END-


End file.
